On the front page of each diary, along with John’s name, is a date. 1920. 1924. Stephen even finds one from 1915. Stephen picks up as many as he can carry and passes them through to the detective who is waiting by the entrance.
‘Diaries?’
‘Lots of them. All written by John Hammel.’
‘Interesting. Good work. Hopefully there is something in these diaries that can help us.’
Stephen returns to the room, retrieving the rest of the items. It takes him several trips, by which point, when he hands the detective the last of the newspapers, his arms are trembling.
‘Go and sit at the kitchen table, Mr Mallow. I’ll pop the kettle on. Is there anything else in the room of interest?’
‘I don’t believe so, but I’ll do another quick sweep.’ He takes one last look around at the long-forgotten room. HadSophia found this space too? For a moment, when he first entered the area, a morbid thought had entered his mind. Would he find Sophia’s body hidden in the walls?
There is no rotting smell, other than damp and mould. Thankfully, there is also no sign of a body.
Where are you, Sophia?
Ensuring the room is clear, he squeezes himself between the beams, exiting into the hallway, then joins Detective Williams in the kitchen where a mug of coffee is already waiting for him. The detective has also piled the diaries and newspapers onto the kitchen table. There are so many that barely a piece of the table itself is visible.
‘I have a feeling this is going to be a long day,’ says Stephen. ‘Luckily, we have time before I need to meet Frank.’
The first thing they do is gather all the diaries together and work out the dates of each one. The earliest is 1912 and the latest is 1925. The diary from 1925 is only partially completed, stopping in October of that year.
The month he died.
The newspaper articles are next on the list to sort. They are crudely cut out, sometimes ripped. Nothing jumps out straight away, but there are mentions of residents who have died in the war. There are also a few notebooks, all with scribbles and lists inside. Stephen picks one up and reads through the first couple of pages.
Bethgelert Village Council
John Hammel Sr
Dafydd Davies
Margerie Bevan
Aled Griffiths
Then, it lists the names of their family members, including spouses and children.
‘It seems young John’s father, John senior, was a member of the village council,’ says Stephen. ‘Also, these surnames are all familiar. I’m not quite sure what the village council does, but I assume it involves knowing a lot of what goes on and giving the go ahead for planning.’ He looks to the detective for confirmation.
Detective Williams nods. ‘That’s correct. They seem to have a lot of power within the local community. There’s a meeting once a month, which I told you about. The day I moved in, a bunch of them turned up at my door and introduced themselves, explaining a few things to me regarding the cottage.’
‘Like what?’
‘Like … I wouldn’t be able to change any of it, internally, or build an extension.’
‘Surely, that’s not up to them? That depends on whatever is said when you apply for the planning permission.’
‘Not according to the village committee.’
‘So this … village committee, or whatever you want to call them … they hold power over the village that goes back a hundred years, which means that whatever happened to young John Hammel was probably a result of him finding out what they were up to back then. Look at this …’ Stephen hands the detective one of the journals.
Detective Williams looks over the page that’s open. ‘Human sacrifice?’
‘A hundred years ago it wouldn’t have been so unheard of.’
‘Yes, perhaps, but … are you saying that the members of the village committee potentially sacrificed that poor girl ten years ago? For what?’
